


los angeles

by sumaru



Series: team oikage two seventeen [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, Future Fic, M/M, Oikawa Wears A Speedo At Least Once, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11893455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumaru/pseuds/sumaru
Summary: From Miyagi to Tokyo to across the sea. This is not Oikawa and Kageyama's road map to the Summer Olympic Games, but snapshots from somewhere along the way.or: A series of short stories (mostly) about Los Angeles 2028.





	1. upside down map

“Do you know where we’re going, Oikawa-san.”  
  
“It’s not an adventure if I just  _tell_  you,” Oikawa huffs as he turns the map away from Kageyama. The yellow summer sun is like a warm weight upon their shoulders, and even with all the car windows rolled down and the wind whipping lightly through their hair, they’re both sweating in the late afternoon air; Oikawa’s damp bangs are pinned up with twin silver hairclips and his light blue tshirt sticks wetly to his collarbones, and he looks faintly ridiculous. “How about you trust your older and wiser senpai a little, Tobio-chan.”  
  
Kageyama doesn’t take his eyes off the road. He’s a very careful driver. “I think your map is upside down,” he blurts out instead. “But I do, Oikawa-san. Trust you,” Kageyama adds, and now he does look over briefly, and his blue eyes are piercing in the golden light. “I trust you.”  
  
They’re supposed to be taking the highway from Miyagi to Tokyo, following the white line that maps the curve along the coast to the dorm where their names are stacked together, waiting for them to settle in with the newly reformed National Team. It’s a little more than a year out to Los Angeles 2028, and while this was not their first trip together, two boys from the green hills of home to the sprawling city with its high-rise stadiums, and then back again during the summer lulls, it’s certainly the first trip where Oikawa had not just set his phone to guide them and fallen asleep to the k-pop power ballads he always insisted on listening to while Kageyama drives.  
  
(“How can you listen to that awful music for hours while he just sleeps through it,” Yamaguchi had laughed at him once over coffee, during one of the reunions they always have for him when he visits home.  
  
“Because he never sleeps that peacefully at any other time,” Kageyama had replied quietly.)  
  
“Next exit, Tobio-chan! This one!” Oikawa points at the map and then at the quickly approaching exit sign. He’s leaning forward in his excitement and the sweat glows on his forehead. “I know exactly where we’re going. I always do.”  
  
“Yes, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama just says, because despite everything that has happened between the two of them, Oikawa somehow always did.  
  
The exit takes them onto a side road that quickly turns into a local road, unpaved and bumpy with gravel and packed dirt, and Kageyama meticulously drives through it all as Oikawa navigates him, focused and quick fingers directing like they’re on the court of their final losing match, and not just trying to avoid the sandy patches that have started to crunch under the wheels.  
  
“See, an adventure, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa breathes happily as they stop at a sandy overlook that spills out over the sea. They go out to stretch their legs, and it’s like walking into a painting; the sun is already moving against the horizon, and the clouds are lofting brilliant in purple and red and that pale orange that feels like something warm squeezing inside of your lungs. “I thought you might have needed a little bit of one in your boring, dull, volleyball only life.”  
  
“You have a boring, dull, volleyball only life, too, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama points out. The sand shifts under his sneakers and he feels all kinds of unsteady.  
  
But Oikawa has already walked ahead and if he hears him, he makes no sign, and all Kageyama can do is watch as Oikawa runs a hand through his sweaty hair, and scuff one shoe in the grass that grows green and fragrant by the roadside; looking out, looking ahead.

 

 


	2. after party

What happens in Los Angeles stays in Los Angeles.   
  
Except for the part where Kageyama wakes up at the crack of dawn with a truly magnificent headache, no pants, and two gold medals gleaming cheerfully around his neck. It’s another beautiful day in sunny California, and Kageyama’s bare ass is getting the tan of a lifetime. To think it was only twenty-four hours left before their flight out, and he had almost missed his chance at the time honoured tradition of a walk of shame. He thinks he’s in the cluster of green hedges that mark the path to the Hollywood Hills. He wonders how many meters he would have to streak across open ground to get back to the dorms. Is it too early for tourists.  
  
(“Walk of… shame…” Oikawa had pronounced slowly to the cheers of the Australian swim team. They had seemingly adopted the newly medalled Japanese volleyball team, something about upsetting their long time rivals the Americans on the way to the men’s gold. They had also cheered him on fondly and raucously as he had drunkenly tried to say a variety of things in english, including “I would like exactly one hundred condoms, please” and “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi”. Kageyama had been pretty sure the last one wasn’t even english at all, but Oikawa had been flushed so prettily pink and laughing so much into his drink, and his hand had been so warm on his shoulder, Kageyama had tried his best anyway.)  
  
“How do you say pants in english,” Kageyama grumbles into the dirt. He’s not sure that’s actually a helpful thing to know right now but the headache is so bad. What was even in that Gatorade concoction those Australian had insisted he tried; he should have suspected something when it was handed to him in a small bucket.   
  
_Live a little, Tobio!_  Oikawa had said. But Oikawa was also wearing two pairs of stacked glitter shades -- also a gift from the Australians, they were actually really nice and Kageyama really  _did_  have a good time at the Olympic Village after party, the sudden memory filling his chest up completely with that warm sunny feeling he still gets when he thinks of  _teammates_. But  _maybe_  he should have listened to his entire life of knowing Oikawa was three parts bad personality to one part--  
  
Oikawa.  _Oikawa-san._    
  
“Looking good, Tobio-chan!”  
  
Kageyama feels something warm settle on his ass. This is not exactly how he expected the Olympic dream to go, or even the honeymoon phase. “Please remove whatever that is, Oikawa-san.”  
  
“I bring you breakfast and this is how you thank me? I’m hurt.” Oikawa leans down and pouts right where Kageyama can see him. It’s kinda cute. Kageyama thinks he wants to touch that mouth.  
  
“No, you’re not,” Kageyama says instead. “Do you know where my pants are?” It’s still early morning and he’s just off taper and he thinks it’s best to maybe continue lying here face down in the nice soft grass.  
  
“What’s this? Is Tobio-chan suddenly shy now?”  
  
Kageyama has learned to suspect that particular lilt in Oikawa’s voice. “Oikawa-san, I need to get back--”  
  
“Trade you one of those medals for this then,” Oikawa laughs as he drops a pair of shorts in front of Kageyama. He looks up and it’s only now that he notices that Oikawa is wearing the #2, Kageyama’s jersey, and the way it fits Oikawa so comfortably, shows off his tanned arms, makes Kageyama think his decision to continue lying in the grass a sane one. “But thanks for hanging onto it for me, Tobio.” Oikawa ruffles his hair gently. “Good boy.”  
  
“Good boy,” Oikawa repeats in english, but just to himself this time, and the movement of his fingers slow to almost nothing, like the nothing touch of early morning sun, and Kageyama wonders groggily if they’ll be able to fish Oikawa’s own jersey from the top of the fountain, where he had drunkenly stripped and flung it last night while making Kageyama listen to him repeat in english things like “American skinny dipping” and “water-based lube” and “thank you for being an adorably useful kouhai”.

 

 


	3. surf's up tobio-chan

“Please put on a real swimsuit, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama says.  
  
He’s trying not to point. It’s impolite to point. He probably doesn’t even need to point because the cheerful mint green banana hammock that is only a spandex centimetre away from Oikawa and a public indecency record is doing all the pointing needed.   
  
The hotel lobby is practically deserted so they’ve been spared the usual rowdy crowd of fans asking excitedly for selfies with the two newly medalled darlings of Japan volleyball. But as Kageyama stares at Oikawa -- stopped in front of an ornate mirror, with one hand on a tilted hip and the other adjusting his artfully mussed bangs -- Kageyama can’t help but think a distraction would have been good right about now.   
  
Oikawa catches his eye through the reflection and winks, and Kageyama flushes bright pink across his cheeks. “That, Oikawa-san. Please.”  
  
“You never had any complaints before, Tobio,” Oikawa leers. His fingers skim along the waistband as he eyes Kageyama in the mirror.  
  
Kageyama frowns. “Yes, I have. Remember that one time--”  
  
“File your complaint with human resources then,” Oikawa snaps in indignation as they continue walking out toward the resort’s beachfront, but Oikawa takes his hand and his long fingers are warm and familiar and good entwined in-between Kageyama’s own. It’s a little embarrassing. “Besides, this is California. Try not to be so... _you_. You'll ruin the scenery.”  
  
The waves of Malibu are deep blue. They roll long and slow along the shoreline and Kageyama kicks off his sneakers immediately (“I still can’t believe you didn’t bring sandals to a  _beach_ , you idiot,” Oikawa calls out fondly) to feel the water run in-between his toes. It feels amazing. It feels new and marvelous and a kind of clean that reaches deep down into Kageyama’s lungs as he breathes in all that salt air around him.  
  
“Surf’s up, Tobio-chan!” Oikawa yells at him in stilted english from the beach rental hut. He’s jogging slowly back toward Kageyama with two body boards tucked under his arm. Oikawa is tanned golden and beautiful from two weeks of California sun and his brown hair is flopping around messy and ridiculous and the way he’s bouncing in his Speedo looks like it could be banned in several counties but Kageyama just sees Oikawa grinning with all of his teeth, alight under the bright blue sky, and he can’t help but smile back, too.  
  
“Ugh,” Oikawa says as he catches up with Kageyama and pinches his cheek. “I can’t believe I think this smile is cute.”  
  
“I think your smile is cute, too,” Kageyama replies, voice too intense, and Oikawa just groans at him.

 

 


	4. the sky's more blue (in malibu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We watched the sun go down as we were walking  
> I'd spend the rest of my life just standing here talking  
> You would explain the current as I just smile  
> Hoping that you'll stay the same and nothing will change  
> And it'll be us just for a while
> 
> \--Miley Cyrus, [Malibu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8j9zMok6two)

“Did you ever think that--” Kageyama starts. But Oikawa has already walked ahead. Oikawa always walks ahead.

Kageyama is left talking to the tide, salt water splashing over his bare feet and dotting dark grey droplets across the rolled up cuffs of his sweatpants. The sand is wet and cold but something is burning bright under Kageyama’s breast. He feels alight with it. He feels like he’s burning up right here with nothing but the sliver of the setting sun lancing warm and golden across his shoulders and the feeling of Oikawa so close, so close. Kageyama just needs to reach out and he could grab Oikawa’s fluttering sleeve, and he almost does, but the dying light catches Kageyama in the eye and his feet stutter in the sand.

The storm passed just in time for the sunset, and the light wind off the ocean carves from the grey clouds a pale yellow light that lofts around them like sun haze. Kageyama can’t see Oikawa’s face at all anymore. There’s only the outline of fluffy brown hair, the glint off of white teeth. Oikawa is smiling into the open air, and Kageyama wants that, so he reaches out, catches just the tip of Oikawa’s sleeve.

“Too slow, Tobio,” Oikawa laughs as he pulls away. Waves crash into the sand. Kageyama can’t hear what Oikawa says next. The golden air tastes like something soft and new, like the green of sea grass growing bitter and unyielding in the shallows.

“No,” Kageyama says, a shout he tries to muffle in his mouth, but he can’t, he can’t when everything feels so open in this place and all of the tightness in his lungs that has been building for the last few months is just ready to spill out. The aches in his fingers, the scars on his knees, the twilight drills that have brought them to the rowdy shores of Los Angeles, the green shadow at the foot of the Hollywood hills. They finally have everything they’ve ever wanted but nothing is enough for Kageyama. He wants to stand under the lights forever. “No, Oikawa-san, I’m right here.”

Oikawa is still laughing as Kageyama kisses him, laughs against Kageyama’s mouth as the sliding sand trips him the last few steps and sends them both stumbling into the surf, can’t stop laughing as Kageyama goes in for a kiss again, clumsier, missing his mouth, catching Oikawa’s chin. Not even the chill of the storm water can touch the warm gold light that stays on their shoulders, that crowns them both against the purple and orange of the sky at sunset.

“Where next, Tobio,” Oikawa asks as Kageyama presses warm hands against his ribs, insistent, like Kageyama wants to reach right inside Oikawa, like being toe-to-toe with him wasn’t enough, like standing right at his shoulder was only the beginning.

“Home,” Kageyama says as he watches the sun set on the golden shores of California.

 

 


End file.
